


A bitter pill

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Adult Language, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, reference to cancer and chemotherapy, use of profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Occurs a few weeks after the season seven finale. After treatment has begun.No longer in control, Joan breaks.Adult language.





	1. Chapter 1

“I want you to leave.” Joan slumped in the low chair that had appeared in the bathroom shortly after her first chemo session. Yesterday’s treatment had wreaked havoc; her body was no longer hers to control. Late last night and then into the early morning hours her reaction had been particularly bad; weak, dizzy, nauseous, vomiting and alternating between freezing and burning up, she had, for the first time, been unable to see her son off to school. 

Sherlock stood in the bathroom’s doorway, towels fresh from the laundry and a bottle of room temperature water in hand, assessing her physical condition. She looked steadier than she had looked last night, still not well but stronger. “Alright.” He set the towels and water on the sink. “Call out if you need me. I’ll be within earshot.”

“No!” the harshness in her voice surprised both of them. She swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. “I want you to leave the brownstone. Pack up and go.”

Bewildered, he searched her face for an explanation.

Joan hung her head as another bout of nausea announced itself with a suffocating wave of heat. Pushing her hair away from her face, feeling the thinness of it, further angered her and she barked at him in response. “I don’t need you here. You are only complicating things. I’m able to take care of myself.”

“And Arthur?” Sherlock kept his tone as calm and soothing as he could manage. 

“He’ll be fine. Rose can help.” Her manner dismissed Sherlock as unnecessary and she waved him away. “Go.”

“Rose can help in the middle of the night?” Try as he might, he was getting angry and strove to keep himself in check. “What happens when he calls for you and you are too sick to respond? What happens when you yourself need help...”

She stood up abruptly, yelling at him. “I said I can handle it! Damn it! You are not the great white savior here. I am a grown woman, a doctor, and I can fucking take care of myself and my child!” A wave of nausea doubled her over and brought her to her knees before the toilet bowl. Vomiting again, she felt utterly helpless; disgusted that she could not control her body. 

As she went down to her knees, Sherlock was beside her; hand at her forehead, he supported her body through the convulsions as best he could.

Joan trembled as it passed, sat back on her legs, wiped the snot and tears and vomit from her face. She irately shrugged away from his touch. No one should have to go through this with her; no one should see her like this. She was stronger than this. “I said leave! I don’t want you here.” 

Sherlock reached for one of the towels and attempted to wipe at her face. She angrily grabbed the towel away from him. “Are you getting some sort of kick from seeing me like this? Does it make you feel better about yourself, your withdrawals, your addiction...” She was being horrible but couldn’t stop herself. The look of hurt on his face made her sob; the towel came to her face, muffling her cry.

Sherlock stood up and moved away from her. “Is that what you really think of me?” He could no longer contain his emotions, his pain shone on his face. He looked down on the small frightened mess of his partner as she sobbed into the towel and tears welled in his eyes.

He moved to the tub and turned on the water, testing the shower spray until it was warm. He extended his hand to Watson and she looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I am not taking my clothes off and I am not getting in that shower. I want you to go! Do I have to call Marcus? I’ll get a court order. How many times must I ...” Her tone grew into a screeching rage and he yelled over her.

Sherlock’s body shook with anger, his voice boomed over hers. 

“Keep your clothes on, I don’t care! Just get in the fucking shower, now Joan!” tears streamed down his face. “God damn it! If you have any feeling other than hatred left for me ...” he took a breath and extended his hand to her once more, “... please... please.”

Seeing him break down and cry before her, broke her. Trembling and crying herself, she stood and let him guide her into the warm spray of water. He took off his shoes and went in with her, supporting her by the elbows as she let the stream wash away the sick from her face and clothes and begin to cleanse her of her anger and self-hatred for losing control of her body and her life. She leaned back into him and he guided her down until they sat on the tub floor, warm water at her back, he sat in front of her. Joan lowered her head to her bended knees and breathed. 

His face inches from her, he watched her begin the process of regaining herself. He whispered, barely audible over the spray of water. “I didn’t need your help either, remember? I sent you away... multiple times and yet you stayed. You saw me through my most horrible days, my most disgusting days, through withdrawals, hallucinations, fits, breakdowns ... you stayed. You stayed and I am eternally grateful you ignored me. I’m not going anywhere, Joan ... I’m not going away.” He lowered his forehead to the top of her head, his hand at her nape. 

After a moment, Joan’s head lifted and placing her cheek on her knee, she sighed. “I’d like to lay down.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than he moved to have it be so. Water off, a rather soggy Sherlock stepped out of the tub and grabbed towels. He helped her out of the tub and stood her up, trembling on the small bathroom rug.

“Here,” he sat her on the tub’s edge and wrapped a towel around her shoulders. “I’ll go get you some fresh pajamas. Do you need help getting undressed?”

Eyes closed, she shook her head no and then reluctantly nodded yes. 

He acted without hesitation. “Lift your arms.” She stared straight ahead as he pulled the wet green jersey over her head and placed a towel around her before going to fetch dry clothes. 

The process of changing was done in silence, done quickly and kept as impersonal as possible. Too tired and weak to fight, she allowed him to support her as he took her to her bed.

He shuttered the windows against the mid-morning light, made sure she was comfortable and left her room without a word, lest he anger her again.

Sherlock sat in the hall, a small puddle formed about him, listening until he heard her breathing even out and he was sure she was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

He was thoroughly familiar with the distinctive range of sounds her bedroom door produced, enough so as to be able to tell if it was being opened or closed. The door opening lifted him from his semi-dozing state. 

Joan, dressed and looking very much like herself, with no hint of the woman she was earlier this morning, stepped out into the hallway. “Have you been sitting here the whole time?” He looked crumpled. 

Sherlock rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He closed his laptop and moved it off his crossed legs. “No. Not the whole time.” 

A sad and apologetic smile crossed her face as she bent to sit next to him. She noted how he watched her for any sign of pain or discomfort. “It’s okay. I’m over it. I’m fine.”

Sherlock nodded but her body told him otherwise. He stretched his legs and changed the subject. “I spoke to Rose and asked her to take Arthur to the park after school ... thought you might need some time to recompose yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Silence. Both stared blankly not knowing how to proceed - address what had occurred or let it go as if nothing had happened. 

He broke the silence first, “Would you like breakfast of some sort? Yogurt or a smoothie. I made a small batch of Yorkshire puddings but I don’t think those would be best for you right now ... especially since they currently reside in the trash bin.” 

Joan’s heart clenched with guilt. “I drove you to bake.” She meant for the words to seem lighthearted but they came out drenched in sadness. He looked down and didn’t respond. 

She took an unsteady breath and shook her head. He wouldn’t make eye contact. “I’m sorry. ... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you ... I was in pain and couldn’t control... I just ... I can’t ... “ The words would not form properly to explain the depth of her remorse. Weak and whispered, all she could produce was a heartfelt, “Forgive me.”

“No. I will not.” His voice was strong and steady. His eyes rose to meet hers. “I will not forgive you. You meant every word you said. Every word was a declaration of hatred for what is happening to you ... to us ... you need to come to terms with the fact that this is out of your control, that you are not responsible for your illness or it’s effects, and that you need assistance, be it from me or someone else.” He looked away from her for a second. The pain he saw on her face as he spoke almost stopped him, but she needed to hear the truth. 

He turned back to her, with one hand he gently lifted her face so that her tear-filled eyes met his once more. “You have every right to be angry and hurt and frustrated. And you have every right to express that unapologetically. Especially to me. I can take it. There is no need for forgiveness. You have done nothing wrong. If anything I’m proud of you for expressing yourself ...”

Sherlock was suddenly locked in a tight embrace. Her head burrowed into his neck and she sobbed softly. He held fast and murmured words of comfort in her ear until he felt her body relax against his. 

Joan pulled away from him, wiping at her tears and then at his. “Thank you.”

“And as for my leaving you, well .... you will need to get a court order, Marcus and half the precinct to pry me away from your side.” His words had the desired effect - she smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I based the symptoms from research, don’t know if they accurately portray what happens during chemo. Correct me if I’m inaccurate or misleading.


End file.
